Content Warnings: Mental Illness, Attempted Murder, Sexual Content, Stalking, Abuse, Animal Abuse Mention, Emetophobia, US Public Education, Military Industrial Complex. I’ve been told this is my most disturbing story, even if it’s hilarious, so mind your health. All the names in this story have been changed to protect the innocent and Not-So-Innocent.

This is the story of Recruiting Sergeant Scott VS. The Lacrosse Jocks VS. Yours truly.

To understand this story, you must understand the dystopian hellscape that is US Public High School- I went to the NICE high school in town, with the AP curriculum and new building, where the the kids were generally too obsessed with getting into the ivy league to do anything worse than occasionally smoke on the roof. Not even weed, just regular cigs. During their off-periods, so they’d have time to febreeze their clothes and arrive to their next class early. You know, the most boring fucking kids ever.

AND STILL, we were subjected to the various scourges of US public ed, namely-

-on-campus police officers and regular “what to do in case of a columbine event” drill. We had Officer Munoz, who was a wonderful Latina Woman with the good sense to focus her efforts on getting kids away from abusive parents rather than persecuting brown kids, but we were VERY lucky on that front. Still, having someone walking around with a gun and technically the authority to kill you, and having to hide in the science cabinets three times a year fucks you up. Remember Officer Munoz though, She is Important.

- A weird, cult-like, frankly masturbatory attitude regarding athletic achievement. The arts and sciences were stuck doing bake sales for supplies while the gym got re-done two years after the school opened. This was tempered in an odd way at my school in that literally all the sports teams unequivocally sucked, with the exception of

1.Marching Band, which went to nationals twice in the first two years the school was open

2.Knowledge Bowl, where kevin and I took the team to 3rd in state in our first year, and only lost because Kevin had an asthma attack so we decided to let the other teams fight over the ‘lesser’ medals

3.Lacrosse, which didn’t actually didn’t GO anywhere, but was a “real” sport and beat our ‘rival’ school, so the team got to be Big Men On Campus, and get away with all kinds of nonsense like eating in class when everyone else was forbidden or skipping tests for ‘practice’. The three worst offenders were Dustin, Jack and “Rattlesnake Pete”, all of whom were budding neo-nazis and thus signed up for German. With our Jewish teacher. Remember them too.

-On-campus military recruiters. As in, people who are legally allowed to exaggerate, manipulate and actually lie to minors to convince them to join the armed forces. Ours was Sergeant Scott, and as much of a skeevy rat as he was I honestly felt bad for him, because remember, academic magnet high school so he had three kinds of kids to work with:

Kids who made the physical standards for the armed forces and were all about honoring their country via physical labor, but were dumb as shit and couldn’t pass the written exam.

Kids who could pass the written exam and were totally ready to bully some people in the third world, but couldn’t do a pull up if you covered the gym floor in cobras.

Kids who passed the physical and mental portions but were uniformly rabidly anti-military industrial complex, to the point where 35 of them crammed into his cubicle in the office he shared with Officer Munoz and Janitor Wendy, so they could hold a sit-in protest of the Iraq war and chant “Impeach Bush” and “War is Murder” at him Someone chucked red paint on him, because they’re furious immature teenagers. It was his first day.

January 2016. There’s a bench at the top of Primrose Hill, in London, that looks out over the skyline of the city. If you’d passed by it one winter night, you might have seen him sitting there. A lanky guy in a wool hat, overcoat and jogging pants, hands thrust deep into his pockets. Harry Styles had a lot on his mind. He had spent five years as the buoyant fan favorite in One Direction; now, an uncertain future stretched out in front of him. The band had announced an indefinite hiatus. The white noise of adulation was gone, replaced by the hushed sound of the city below.

The fame visited upon Harry Styles in his years with One D was a special kind of mania. With a self-effacing smile, a hint of darkness and the hair invariably described as “tousled,” he became a canvas onto which millions of fans pitched their hopes and dreams. Hell, when he pulled over to the side of the 101 freeway in L.A. and discreetlythrew up,the spot became a fan shrine. It’s said the puke was even sold on eBay like pieces of the Berlin Wall. Paul McCartney has interviewed him. Then there was the unauthorized fan-fiction series featuring a punky, sexed-up version of “Harry Styles.” A billion readers followed his virtual exploits. (“Didn’t read it,” comments the nonfiction Styles, “but I hope he gets more than me.”)

But at the height of One D–mania, Styles took a step back. For many, 2016 was a year of lost musical heroes and a toxic new world order. For Styles, it was a search for a new identity that began on that bench overlooking London. What would a solo Harry Styles sound like? A plan came into focus. A song cycle about women and relationships. Ten songs. More of a rock sound. A bold single-color cover to match the working title: Pink. (He quotes the Clash’s Paul Simonon: “Pink is the only true rock & roll colour.”) Many of the details would change over the coming year – including the title, which would end up as Harry Styles – but one word stuck in his head.

Doing the locator spell was easy enough. Draco had feared it wouldn’t work, but it seemed there were no wards guarding the flat the chest of drawers had ended up in. Draco apparated to the flat, his heart hammering as he knocked.

When the door opened, Draco was sure he had to be dreaming. Of all the people in the world. Of course. Of course.

“Malfoy?” Potter seemed stunned. He was holding a toothbrush and was only dressed in a green t-shirt and pants. “How did you find me?”

Draco shook his head, willing his mind to work properly again.

“You have something of mine,” he said curtly.

“And what might that be?” Potter responded, a grin beginning to form on his lips. It took Draco off guard for a moment.

“Can I just come in and check something?”

Potter stepped aside and gestured for Draco to come in. Draco wasted no time and quickly found the chest of drawers in the corner of Potter’s bedroom. He opened the second drawer and took out the little book he had been so desperate to get back.

“What’s that?” Potter asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“Nothing of your concern. It shouldn’t have been in there,” Draco huffed.

“Hmmm,” Potter hummed. “You know, I never would have thought you kept a diary.”

Draco blushed, quickly hiding his hands behind his back.

“It’s not a diary,” he said lamely.

Potter nodded, but he had a mischievous smile on his face.

“You want a drink?” he asked, turning around and heading back into the living room. Draco blinked and tried to find his voice again.

“Um, no thank you. You were obviously getting ready for bed. I won’t disturb you any longer,” he said hastily.

“You sure? It might be a great opportunity,” Potter grinned. Draco gave him a quizzical look.

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Potter shrugged, “after two Firewhiskeys you might get the chance to run your hands through my incredibly infuriating, magnificent head of hair.” Potter tried to keep a straight face, but couldn’t suppress a snicker. “I might even let you touch my strong and marvellous jawline.”

Never had Draco wished more the ground would open and swallow him up.

“You read it,” he said through gritted teeth. “You had no right.”

“True,” Potter replied, nonchalant. “I’d let you read mine in return, but I don’t keep a diary.” He stepped closer to Draco, studying his face intently.

“You look rather cute when you’re flushed.”

Draco made a sound that was something between a weird gurgle and a high-pitched squeak. Whatever it was, it was highly embarrassing.

Potter chuckled, coming to a halt right in front of Draco.

“I mean, I could just show you what kind of fantasies I’d be writing in that diary,” he said in a low whisper.

Draco gulped, not quite grasping what Potter was saying.

“Like what?” he breathed.

“Hmmm.” Potter’s eyes flickered down to Draco’s lips. “Like how I want to grab you right now and kiss you until you can’t breathe.”

Draco’s mouth opened involuntarily. Breathing was already hard with Potter standing so close to him.

“And then,” Potter continued, deliberately breathing on Draco’s lips, “I’d want your hands on the most delicious and perfect arse you have ever seen in your life.”

Draco groaned loudly. This was just too much. But then again, Potter really seemed to be teasing him in a rather flirtatious way. Trying to conceal his nervousness, he raised his chin and fixed Potter with a glare.

“These better not just be empty promises,” Draco said haughtily.

“Oh, they’re not,” Potter smirked, his eyes gleaming as he started pouring their drinks.

Disclaimer - I do not own any of Descendants’ characters and/or ideas all credit goes to the creator and producers of Disney Descendants

•

Pairing - Harry Hook x Reader

Summary – (Y/N) is the daughter of Dr. Facilier and is one of the Villain Kids who go to Auradon but when Mal returns to the Isle she goes with Ben, Evie, Carlos, and Jay to get her back when they run into her boyfriend, Harry Hook

Author’s note: The beginning turned all mushy? Idk what that’s about (Yes I do. It’s because I’m fucking whipped for mushy Harry.) but if the transition seems sudden, whooops. :)

This vacation is an absolute blessing. A week away from the madness and noise of fans and paps and meetings. From the moment the two of you arrived to your private little getaway on the coast, Harry’s been warm and relaxed, and you couldn’t ask for anything more than that.

Pairing: Chris Evans x ReaderRating: Explicit - 18+ onlySummary: Chris and Reader have some naughty time together during the Super Bowl halftime show.Word Count: 1.8kGenre: NSFW/SMUTWarnings: Swearing and unprotected sex. [Wrap your wang before you bang.]Author’s Note: Might not be my greatest work since I wrote it in a hurry, but I couldn’t pass up this opportunity. Congrats to the Pats, by the way.

“C'mon, you can do better… don’t fuck this one up, guys!” Chris yelled, clapping his hands as if he was the coach. “Don’t you dare to do this to us!”

Proud yelling, muttered cursing and stressed screaming everywhere around you in the VIP area of the stadium. The fans sitting, standing or jumping roared their stress out as your team was in a difficult time. The halftime was fast approaching and the Patriots struggled, facing the seemingly glorious Falcons.

“Don’t freak out. Relax, big boy,” you soothed, rubbing your boyfriend’s tensed back as he tapped his foot on the floor.

“How can we relax, Y/N?!” Scott, his brother told you and you rolled eyes, mentally noticing him he wasn’t helping at all.

It happened again. The same painful disaster. It was happening everyday, so annoying, so unendurable. And to think, everything was so peaceful and nice for Bendy and Boris only a little while ago. Their lives were perfect, they didn’t have anything to worry about and have nothing to fear. Until Bendy got that illness. Everything changed for them both. Now instead of having fun and living their lives they had to put their effort into finding the lost items for the machine in order to save Bendy from all of this pain, and at the same time dealing with those two guys who were out to end them. This all has became an unbearable daily routine for both of them. Especially for Boris. Bendy wasn’t really worried for himself as much as for his bro, who didn’t have anyone else other than him. The older was trying not to pay too much attention to his condition and stay positive to not make his bro too anxious, and Boris also was trying not to think about it too much. At first it wasn’t too hard, but as this keeps happening more and more, Boris just couldn’t ignore it anymore. He was being really stressed and scared, even though he was trying hard not to show it off and not think about it. But this time that was exactly what he was doing, thinking about it. He was sitting on the grass, gazing at his beloved brother who was sleeping peacefully, lying his head on his shirt that he took off a moment ago when the pain attack kicked in again. This time, it seems to be worse than usual.

It was already late evening, but they were both still peppy and were still walking. Suddenly, Bendy curved with a painful groan, falling down while gripping to his stomach. Boris instantly ran towards his brother to help him. Bendy was shaking like crazy, he could barely make any sounds other than just squeaking, felt like something was blocking his breath. At one point, he just fell to his brother’s arms with no sound or movements. Boris started to freak out as he realized that Bendy was no longer trying to breathe, he wasn’t breathing at all! His panic level was increasing as the older one was still unconscious, he tried to pat him softly on the cheek but he was still not moving. Boris could no longer control himself, he started screaming and crying loudly as he was shaking his brother. “BENDY!! BENDY, NO! COME ON! WAKE UP!! STAY WITH ME PLEASE!!!!” desperately pleaded Boris. Fortunately, the luck was on their side again. After few minutes, Bendy opened his eyes, taking a deep breath and started to cough constantly. He pulled his hand to his throat as a stream of black liquid flowed down from his mouth to the ground. After that, he took a relived breath and lied on Boris’s lap. The pain was gone.

Bendy seems to be much better now. But not Boris, he was still terrified after what just happened, for a moment there, he actually thought that everything was over…and seems like Bendy was getting ready for that. For the last few days, Bendy was pushing his young brother much harder to be independent and self-capable. And that was showing the fact that he was ready to give up and die, or at least that’s what Boris thought. And he couldn’t stand that thought. The thought of losing the one person he loved, the thought of never get to see his smile, hear his voice, never get to hug him, listen to his teaching or just goof around with him. And what will he do without Bendy? Where will he go? He could still try to find and fix the machine on his own, but what is the purpose if he already lost his beloved one? All of those thoughts were causing him a headache. His eyes started to tear up. “No… he is strong enough… he’s not gonna leave me… I know he won’t” silently sobed the young wolf while wiping his eyes. He looked at his brother, who was still sleeping like a little baby. Boris slowly crawled next to him, trying to be as quite as possible to not wake him up. He seems so pacified, like he never got any deadly diseases. Boris moved his sight to Bendy’s exposed chest that was lowering and rising because of his breathing. He moved his head closer and placed his ear on it.

“Ba bump…” a quiet and pleasant sound is what he heard. The sound of a beating heart, his brother’s heart. The sound of life that he valued more than anyone else’s. It was such a satisfying sound, just listening to that slow beat made Boris so relaxed. All the heavy thoughts were gone, all the worries been drawn away, all that he was thinking now is that his bro was still there, he was still alive. This fact was giving him hope that at one day, all of this pain and suffering would be over, and they will go back to those wonderful times when they could live peacefully with reasons to be nervous or scared.

Boris got carried away so deep in his thoughts that he didn’t realized how he lied down completely on his bro’s chest. He was brought back to reality when someone’s hand gently caressed his forehead.

“Boris, could you get up? You’re too heavy…” Bendy’s soft voice broke the silence. Boris instantly got up nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry…” he said with a soft smile.

“What were you even doing?” the other asked.

“Nothing… I just wanted a hug!” childly answered Boris.

“*Yawn* you’ll get your hug tomorrow… I’m very tired…” wearily said Bendy as he flipped over to another side. “You should go to sleep too, it’s really late…”

“Okay” Boris lied down on his back next to Bendy, gazing upon the night sky. He felt much more confident about completing their quest. Only positive thoughts from now on, whining won’t get them nowhere. Other people deserves to be saved too, no one has to go through all this. Being with those who you love is the biggest treasure, and Boris was determined to keep his treasure. Forever. “Good night Bendy! I love you ~” said Boris as he closed his eyes and start falling asleep. “Mhmn… love you too, bro…” Mumbled Bendy through his sleep. Tomorrow is a new day, new challenges to deal with, and new progress to make.

____________________________

Hello there! i’ll be frank, it’s not my first time writing fics, but it is my first sibmission to you!

sorry if there any mistakes i haven’t notice, English is not my first language (plus i’m pretty sure i’ve cheked everything) (⇀‸↼‶)

i fell in love with your AU and it gave me an idea for this “masterpeaceofshit” XP

i also wanna use this oppertunity to tell you dat you are my very favorite artist! your ideas and drawing are stunning and they always inspire me! thank you so much for sharing your work with us Rouge, u da best! (=￣ω￣=)

A/N: This might be complete crap, but I desperately needed to write some Quill. I hammered this out earlier this morning and just did a quick edit, no rewriting. But hopefully it’s post worthy! I think a second part is in order? xD

The sound of bickering voices drifted back from the cockpit, making me roll my eyes. I lowered the manuscript I was flipping through.

“Will you two morons cut it out already?” I hollered. I waited a beat, but the arguing went on. Probably hadn’t even heard me. Anyways, it wasn’t my job to break up the idiotic pissing contest that went on between Rocket and anyone he met. Or at the moment, Drax.

Whenever an uncomplicated task arises, people say it’s as easy to accomplish as breathing. The adage always made perfect sense to you whenever you heard it. Breathing is second nature. It can be done without having to think twice and, sometimes, it feels like certain tasks are the same way.

Today, that’s not the case. Standing here across from Bucky for the first time in weeks, you find that breathing is anything but easy. The air was knocked out of your lungs as soon as you stumbled upon the note he wrote on the canvas and you haven’t yet recovered. You have to keep reminding yourself to breathe, just breathe. But it’s hard. How are you supposed to remember to inhale and exhale in a moment like this?

“Are you going to say something?” You press, once the silence of the room becomes too unbearable. Your fingers curl tightly around the canvas as you wait for Bucky to speak. “Anything?”

A/N: I recently had a realization that the way my blog is structured doesn’t really give me a great leeway to express my creativity and feels for the members at random. So this is the start to a really short series of drabbles for all of the members in super short (less than 2k) drabbles! To be continued! :) Hope you guys like it.

Yoongi gives the elderly man a small smile and nods in agreement, clinking his beer can against his and tipping back the cold liquor into his throats with his eyes trained on you, a feat that happens quite often.

Often Yoongi finds himself just staring at you, in awe of how someone like you ended up with someone like him.

Your friends would describe you as sweet, bubbly, kind, selfless, and bright. His friends would describe you as “the light that shined in Min Yoongi’s horribly dreadful bitch ass life.” And although he always gives them a glare or just brushes their comments off with an eye roll it’s moments like these when he feels like the six dickwads’ words can never be any more accurate.

(this is a sequel to THIS ‘I think there’s someone in the house’ fic!)

The paramedics hammer on the door, and Neil looks up, teary-eyed, from where his face is pressed into Andrew’s damp hair. He’s feeling for his breath with the back of his hand, waiting moment to moment for Andrew to die in his arms, silently like he does everything else. Urgency keeps stunning Neil all over again, hysterical defibrillators. The EMT’s are calling out through the wall, muffled but calm.

It feels unthinkably wrong, their absolute evenness and ease outside his door when his life is an exposed neck and Andrew’s death is the whirring blade of a saw.

He realizes that he has to get up to let them in, and it seems as impossible as it would be for Andrew to spring up and answer the door himself. He feverishly wants them to crumple the door to splinters and be inside already.

It’s a herculean effort to ease Andrew to the ground, like he’s gritting his teeth and cutting off his own leg. He touches Andrew’s clammy face briefly but he can’t bring himself to try and slap him awake. He props Andrew’s bare feet up on the rim of the bath so the blood will flood towards his head, at least.

He feels untethered to his body when he stands, a helium balloon with its usual weight passed out on the bathroom floor. He falls into the wall immediately, adrenaline neck and neck with exhaustion.

He finds his way to the front door without his mind’s help. His head is in the bathroom with Andrew, and he knows that no matter what happens it’ll be there for a long, long time.

The next time he blinks, a man in uniform is holding his biceps and peering down at him seriously.

He turns, easily slipping the paramedic’s grip. There’s a procession of them, hefting a gurney and a couple of kits, and they’ve brought all the cold from outside in on their heels. They’re such a foreign object in their warm, messy apartment — uniformed, official, and precise.

It’s deadly, walking in and seeing Andrew spread out in his boxers, blood oozing through his t-shirt from his loose stitches, pale enough to match the porcelain. Neil’s seen enough corpses to recognize what they look like.

He falls heavily to his knees and puts his head directly to his chest, listening, tears slipping hotly over the bridge of his nose.

“Please,” he slurs. His heartbeat is a tentative thud, a knock from an unexpected guest. “Help him. Now, help him now.”

“We’re going to try our best Sir, but you’ve got to get out of the way,” someone says gently.

He topples backwards onto his hands. It’s a cramped space, and he knows it would be easier if he waited outside, but he also knows he’d rather die than leave them alone with him.

The first guy kneels down and takes Andrew’s pulse, and Neil shakes his head. They’re too slow, time is feeding directly into a wide open drain.

“He needs an IV. He’s two litres down, at least. You’ve got to—“ A petite woman puts a hand on his shoulder and he shrugs her off violently. “No! You have to listen to me.”

“We know what we’re doing,” she says. “Are you an MD?” She eyes him doubtfully, gaze flitting from his scars to where her colleagues are taking vitals and cutting through Andrew’s clothes.

“Yes,” Neil says wildly. “And he needs an IV. Possibly two. Large-bore, normal saline. He’s not getting any oxygen, and he’s been like this for as long as it took you to gather your meager response team.”

She purses her lips, but she’s a professional. He can see her repressing her anger and it infuriates him. He feels like he’s crashing, over and over again, and he’s watching someone daintily pump the breaks.

“He’s right,” one of the EMT’s says distractedly. “We’re gonna need to get some fluids started, he’s in hypovolemic shock, sats below 50.”

“You want to tell me what happened?” one of the men asks.

“No,” Neil says as evenly as he can manage, reaching out to graze Andrew’s cold fingers.

“Did you do these stitches?” the woman asks, pulling at Andrew’s skin to get a better look at them. He suddenly sees how they must look to them, sloppy and angry red. Neil bends her arm away without thinking about it.

“Don’t touch him,” he snaps. He could break her arm and it would make him feel better. He drops her, disoriented by his own violence.

“There’s no need to be antagonistic,” the first man says. “We don’t want to have to remove you.”

A/N: THIS IS THE RESULT OF ME AND @failingmemequeen GOING ABSOLUTELY INSANE FOR DADDY DYLAN O’BRIEN. SHE CAME UP WITH THIS IDEA AND TOTALLY ENCOURAGED ME TO WRITE IT SO THANK HER FOR BEING THE BEAUTIFUL PERSON THAT SHE IS. I LOVE YOU MADI DADDY AND ABSOLUTELY ENJOYED PUTTING OUR CONJOINED FANTASIES INTO ONE.

“I’m gonna kill them.” Dylan complained over the phone and I laughed at his impatience.

“No, you’re not, baby.” I chuckled, coaxing him the best I could. “It’s just one more day ‘till the weekend. You can survive this, I know it.”

“I swear to God, if either one of them annoys me one more time-”

“Then, I’ll destroy them myself.” I answered and Dylan let out a deep breath.

“I have to go, but I don’t want to hang up on you.” My boyfriend groaned over the line. “Can we just stay on the phone for the rest of the day?”

“No, Dylan.” I laughed and I could tell the sound alone made him feel a little more at ease. “We have to be responsible here. But, tell you what, when it’s time for your next break we can Skype call. What do you think?”

“I think that you’re the best girlfriend a guy could ask for and I love you very much.” Dylan swooned and I could practically hear the smile in his voice.

“They can’t fire me, it’s the last season!” Dylan laughed wholeheartedly and I laughed along with him.

That’s what our relationship mostly consisted of: smiling, laughing, fun, and heart eyes. Even though Dylan has been beyond stressed lately because of everything that’s happened in the course of the past two years, we never fail to make each other happy. Things have been very intense for him ever since the accident that shall not be mentioned. Shooting The Death Cure had to be pushed back to this year, Dylan had to stay home for six months and try to avoid paparazzi harassment at all times, he needed to physically train for American Assassin and completely go against his doctor’s recommendations, deal with crazy fans that literally sent him death threats when they found out he wouldn’t be in all of season 6B for Teen Wolf, and even manage to audition for future projects to top it all off. Stress has been very imminent in Dylan’s life and I always felt like it was my job to make him feel better.

Which is why, being the amazing girlfriend I am, I wasn’t going to just Skype call him. I was going to personally go over to his work and give him a fun little surprise.

With excitement running through my veins, I jumped up from my position on our bed together and immediately ran to the bathroom for a shower. Dylan’s next break should be in about an hour, considering he doesn’t have a lot of scenes to shoot this year, so I knew I had to get ready quick.

Once I was out of the shower, I put on Dylan’s favorite red lingerie and took a good look in the mirror. The way the strong red color contradicted with my skin tone will definitely drive him crazy and I can already feel myself getting wet at the thought alone. I didn’t even bother putting on any pants because I knew I wouldn’t really need them and, instead, I picked up the t-shirt Dylan used to sleep from our messy med and slipped it on. Bringing the fabric up to my nose, I took a deep breath and glady breathed in his incredible smell. Sure, I see him everyday but I can’t help feeling addictive and always needed more of him.

Putting on makeup right now just to see Dylan would be useless considering he was going to smudge it up anyway. Therefore, with a smile om my face and exhilaration running through my veins, I put on my black stillettos and grabbed my car keys to head for the Teen Wolf lot. It didn’t take too long to get there and, in a matter of fifteen minutes, I was already greeting Phil the security guard as he let me pass the barrier and enter the studio.

The first thing I did was park my car in an area Dylan would never spot and, then, gladly entered his trailer. Since Dylan hasn’t been in the greatest mood lately, I knew for a fact that he wasn’t going to stick around on set in between scenes like he usually does. From what he told me on the phone, Cody and Sprayberry have been driving him crazy all week and he’s definitely going to want as much distance as possible. Which is where I come in and make him feel all kinds of good before returning to work for the rest of the day.

Having patiently waited for Dylan, laid on his pull-out bed, I immediately jumped up and fixed myself to look sexier the moment the door to his trailer flew open. The look of surprise and immediate lust in Dylan’s eyes when he entered, instantly, made desire crash down on my body. I already knew that I would be putty in his hands in a matter of seconds. Without even saying anything, Dylan just slowly closed the door behind him and took off his sneakers as he licked his lips in anticipation.

“Do you have any idea how good you look just wearing my shirt on?” Dylan questioned, his eyebrows raised in intrigue.

“Do you have any idea how much better I’ll look once you take it off?” I teased, smirking up at him.

My words definitely sparked something in him because Dylan instantly jumped on me, the intense sexual tension in the air an incredible influence on him. I giggled at his excitement and his lips were quickly on mine as my fingers instinctively ran through his hair. I smiled when Dylan’s tongue slid across my bottom lip, already asking for an entrance, and I didn’t think twice before opening my mouth for him. He allowed me to call the shots and would moan everytime I played with his tongue skillfully.

When we both needed to breathe again, Dylan detached his lips from mine and gently caressed my cheeks with his soft hands. His eyes gazed into mine with such emotion and care that a blush immediately made its way on my skin. Dylan never failed to make me feel special and I adored how intimate our relationship was. I always thought that intimacy was about allowing someone to touch you, but it’s so much more. Intimacy is someone who touches you beyond just the physical contact because they find a way to your soul. Intimacy is who you text at four in the morning to share your biggest fears and dreams. Intimacy is the person always in the back of your mind, no matter how distracted you are.

“I love you.” Dylan whispered before pulling off his shirt I was wearing and placing a gentle kiss on my mouth.

The moment he realized I had put on his favorite lingerie set, Dylan couldn’t hold back the immediate moan that fell from his pink lips. His eyes raked my entire body and I felt his cock slightly twitch against my thigh, through his red crimson pants he wore for Stiles’ character. Standing up from the the pull-out bed, Dylan began unbuckling his belt.

Suddenly, the door to his trailer immediately flew open and the both of us froze in absolute shock. I didn’t even have the thought in me to cover myself up with something, anything, before the intruders invaded Dylan’s safe space.

“Hey, Dyl, are you trying to hide from us?” Sprayberry immediately hollered when he and Cody were inside, both instantly stopping in their tracks once they noticed their co-worker wasn’t alone. “Oh, my God!”

“What the hell are you guys doing here?!” Dylan shouted angrily, the veins on his neck bulging against his skin.

Well, looks like someone’s stress is officially back.

“W-We, uh, W-We,” Sprayberry stuttered trying to answer, but was too astonished to form an actual sentence.

Much like Dylan did just moments ago, Cody’s eyes raked my entire body and, by the way he was biting down on his bottom lip, he definitely seemed to like what he saw. Before I could even do anything, Dylan jumped back on the bed and instinctively covered my body with his. Embarrassment and uncomfort took over my emotions as my boyfriend protected me, shielding my body from unwelcome eyes.

“Get! Out!” Dylan yelled, his Alpha male side appearing now that someone glanced at his female without his permission. “NOW!”

Sprayberry was the first to immediately sprint into action, forcefully pulling Cody out the door with him and literally having to tear his gaze off of my body. I let out a nervous breath I didn’t even know I was holding in the second the door sounded shut and the two actors were finally out of the trailer.

“Damn, it’s a good thing I wasn’t naked yet, right?” I chuckled nervously, trying to make the best out of this situation. However, it was no use. Dylan was furious and no longer in the light-hearted mood like before.

“He was totally eye-fucking you and that’s what concerns you the most?” Dylan scolded and even though he was angry, my entire body filled with desire.

Dylan’s usually very sweet, but every now and then he goes completely dominant and it’s the sexiest fucking thing ever. The way he pulls my hair as he forcefully pounds into me or roughly spanks me just because I went against one of his many commands always had me on the edge.

“You’re right.” I smiled innocently, looking up at him as he noticed the tension change in the room. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

The flicker in his eyes immediately went from rage to complete and utter lust the second I let the kinky title he loves so damn much come out of my mouth. The warm and golden-brown color once in his eyes was replaced with a dark black, his pupils now dilated to the maximum. Dylan’s bulge pressed against his pants and I couldn’t take my eyes off of it, knowing exactly what stood beneath the fabric. Although he wasn’t the only one turned on beyond comprehension as arousal pooled uncomfortably in my panties and I desperately wanted them off of me.

Reaching my hand down to my panties to get rid of it, Dylan’s hand suddenly gripped my wrist and stopped me from moving any further.

“Did I say you could do anything yet?” Dylan questioned.

I gulped and slowly shook my head, his eyes focusing on my lip when I bit down on it. He let go of me without another word, but it didn’t even feel like he did because of his addictive touch still lingering on my skin. Dylan stood up and walked over to the door, locking it as he licked his lips with his eyes trailing over my body.

“Take off your bra.” He commanded, walking back over but not sitting down.

“What?” I asked as I watched him take off his shirt, the sight of his impressive form stunning me.

“Ah, ah, ah, babygirl. You know the rules.” Dylan tsked, shaking his head as he unbuckled his belt like before and opened his pants. “Only speak when I give you the permission to.”

Heat rushed throughout my entire body until it landed with full force in my core. Dylan and I had this little game whenever he was dominant and it was one of my favorite fucking things. The game was simple, but absolutely drove me crazy: Dylan would give me three chances and if I strike out every single one of them, he had no other choice than to punish me.

“Strike one.” Dylan stated, a smirk playing on my lips with what he said next. “And I know you just heard what I demanded.”

At the same time that I reached behind my own back to unclasp my bra, Dylan dropped his pants. His erection pressed hard against his boxers, the gray fabric slightly wet from his arousal. When both of us finished taking off our pieces of clothing, Dylan’s eyes were already glued onto my now exposed perky breasts.

“Now your panties.”

My boyfriend and I pulled both of our underwear off our bodies, watching the other intently. As soon as we were free of clothing and completely exposed to each other, Dylan grabbed himself in his hand and stroked his shaft slowly. The sight of Dylan pumping himself as his eyes gazed on my body turned me on in ways that I can’t even explain.

Following his orders, I sat up straight on the bed and spread apart by legs for him to have a full view which made him moan in response. I brought my hand down to my already soaking core and gently slid my finger through my folds, separating them. Slowly rubbing small circles against my clitoris, I couldn’t help but let out a moan. I watched as Dylan used his thumb to caress his tip and I desperately wanted it in my mouth, but I knew that I had to follow his order or else I’d be punished. However, being punished by him does sound very inviting.

Using my other hand to pinch my nipples and tease not only myself but also Dylan, I noticed his grip tighten around his member. Dylan let out an unsatisfied groan when I took my hand away from my breast, but then immediately moaned when I used it to push a finger inside my heat. My back instantly arched and I let out a whimper at the feeling, provoking him to pick up his pace around himself.

“You look so beautiful pleasuring yourself, princess.” Dylan grunted as I moved faster along with him.

Of course I knew how to work myself and make my body feel good, but there’s no denying that Dylan is so much better at it. The way his long and skillfull fingers knowingly curl up inside of me in such a perfect way that not even I knew how to do or the way his sinful tongue flicks expertly against my nub has me wishing that he would just jump on top of me already. But, if there’s one thing Dylan O'Brien certainly loves being is a fucking tease.

“Fuck, baby. Even though this feels good, nothing compares to your beautiful lips and warm mouth wrapped around my cock.” He moaned as my body craved for his touch. “Stop what your doing and come kneel in front of me.”

An exciting idea roared to life in me when I decided to ignore Dylan’s command and willingly get my next strike. I tuned out whatever he had to say and focused on the incredible feeling of my finger pumping inside of me purely to spite him. Which definitely worked because in a matter of seconds I could hear Dylan growling and approaching me. I, suddenly, felt his hands rip mine away from my body and forcefully pull me into him, our naked bodies against each other as we stood.

“Strike two.” He warned through gritted teeth, his jaw clenching and looking sexy as ever.

Before I even knew it, Dylan pushed me down to kneel in front of him and harshly grabbed onto my hair with his hands. Bringing my own hands up, I held onto his thigh with one hand and wrapped around his base with the other. I smirked at Dylan as I licked my lips and gawked at the delicious sight in front of me. I gladly took Dylan’s tip inside of my mouth and he immediately moaned when I did. The first thing my tongue came into contact with was his precum and I can’t deny that I love the salty taste. As I gently sucked his head, my hand began to slowly pump his dick.

One of the many things I love about Dylan is that he’s very responsive and isn’t ashamed in letting me know exactly what he liked. Which is why I already knew that one of his favorite things I do when I give him a blowjob is lick his prominent vein on the underside of his cock at the same time that I very lightly and very carefully graze my teeth against his topside. Dylan let out a throaty groan the second I did exactly that and it seemed to light a fire in him because he immediately took control.

My boyfriend pushed himself fully into my mouth until he was hitting the back of my throat and I was gagging around him, only for him to pull away and do the exact same thing again. Dylan was happily fucking my mouth and, to be honest, I didn’t even mind it. The lust was so far deep in my blood that all I could focus on was how sexy he looked as he practically used me as a fuck toy and how damn good he tasted.

I hollowed my mouth around him to create a much tighter environment for him and the filthy sounds of his shameless moans erupting from his chest made my core ache more than it already had. Due to the fast pace and my wet mouth, it didn’t take long for Dylan to reach his much needed release. I hummed when he unloaded and his hot cum shot straight down my throat, his hips bucking in response.

Once Dylan came down from his high, I pulled him out of my mouth and he shuddered at the contact due to how sensitive he’d become. Wiping away the spit on my mouth and any cum spilling down my chin, I stood up with a smirk on my lips and Dylan immediately kissed me. His dominance faltering for the slightest second so he could show me how much he cared for me through the gentle action. However, the moment we parted, dominant Dylan was back.

“Can you sit on the chair for me, babygirl?” He pointed to the chair under his desk he uses to study his lines as he headed over to the small closet.

“Yes, Daddy.” I obeyed because both of us knew that even though he asked, it wasn’t actually a question.

My eyes widened immediately when I noticed just what he grabbed from the closet and Dylan approached me with an intense grin on his lips. I wanted to desperately ask him why the hell he had that in his trailer or what he thinks he’s about to do to me with it, but I knew that that wouldn’t be the greatest idea.

“It’s not mine.” Dylan defended himself when he obviously saw my shocked facial expression at the metal handcuffs in his hands. “It’s Stiles’, but I don’t see why we can’t have our own little fun with it. What do you think?”

“Well, I know for a fact Stiles and Lydia have a lot of kinky sex with handcuffs.” I smirked, reaching my arms behind the back of the chair for him to lock them there. “So, I say we should also give it a shot, Daddy.”

The next thing my boyfriend did was push my legs apart so I was completely opened for him in a way that felt so dirty and exposing but I loved nonetheless. Dylan’s lips instantly wrapped around one of my breasts, already biting down on my nipple, and I whimpered when I couldn’t grip his hair with my fingers. As he teasingly worked on my breast, Dylan brought a hand up to my core and my hips instinctively bucked the second his middle finger rubbed against my sensitive nub. He started slow at first but as soon as he knew I was ready for more, Dylan picked up his middle finger’s pace and, using his other hand, he slid one of his long fingers inside of me.

I couldn’t hold back my moan at the incredible feeling, considering my body had been craving it for the longest time now, and the first finger was immediately followed by a second. I absolutely loved how much Dylan understood my body and exactly what it needed which is why I was already getting close to my release in a matter of minutes. His skillful fingers curled inside of me and pumped with such fervor that I didn’t have any ounce of self control in me anymore. I knew I was about to reach my edge and, much to my dismay, so did Dylan.

“Not yet, princess.” He teased and I whined when he removed his fingers from my soaking wet heat. “You only get to cum when I say so. And I want it to happen around my cock.”

After seeing me completely opened for him and a moaning mess just because of his fingers, Dylan’s erection was already back up and ready for more action. Precum glistened on his tip and even though I did give him head only a few moments ago, I already wanted to do it all over again. What can I say? The man has a delicious dick.

Dylan was pumping himself a little bit as he watched my chest rise and fall from my rapid breathing before grabbing my feet and hitching them up on the chair. He pulled my waist towards the edge of the seat, making me lay down since I still was locked to the back of the chair, and Dylan positioned himself in front of my entrance. Without even giving me a warning, he instantly slammed inside of me and my entire body arched at the invasive act. He waited a few seconds for me to adjust and when I sort of did, Dylan began roughly thrusting into me.

The pleasurable feeling of his thick width stretching my tight walls as he pounded in me, quite deeply considering how the position we were in favored his ability to be completely buried inside of me, sparked the orgasm I was so close to reach that Dylan denied up to the surface again. I clenched around him once and he growled against my skin, my entire body vibrating with the sound.

“Don’t cum yet.” He demanded and I whimpered.

Even though I tried to hold it back, I clenched around him once more and this time Dylan immediately brought his face up to glare at me. We were so close that I could feel his breath brushing across my skin and, yet, all I could focus on was the bound knot in my stomach ready to break free any minute now. The thought of going against Dylan’s commands was both terrifying and exciting and, to be honest, I didn’t know which one attracted me more.

“Don’t you dare.” Dylan threatened, bringing one of his hands up to forcefully pull my hair and make me look him straight in the eyes. “I’m serious. Promise Daddy you won’t cum until I allow it.”

“I-I promise, Daddy.” I managed to say through moans. However the second his cock twitched inside of me when I said his favorite nickname, I was long gone and there was no way going back.

My entire body shook, my toes curled against the chair and uncontrollable shouts erupted from my chest as one of the greatest orgasms I’ve ever experienced bolted through my veins. I could feel my core clenching around Dylan’s shaft at the same time that it released all of my pent-up arousal and gushed onto him. I screamed so loudly that I was certain everyone on the Teen Wolf lot heard me and I was also sure that despite not following his orders, Dylan was loving the way I was a mess. Everyone including Sprayberry and Cody knew that the person who just made this young woman scream so much in pleasure was Dylan and that it didn’t even matter how badly they might have wanted her, she was his.

My own release triggered Dylan’s and as I was coming down from my intense high, my boyfriend was reaching his. Dylan’s cock twitched before cumming for the second time today and shooting his liquid inside of me, the incredible feeling of his hot cum running against my walls making me moan. The sound of Dylan’s own moans echoed through the trailer and I watched in awe as his face contorted in pure pleasure. He held onto the edges of the chair tightly, his muscles straining against his arms as he shook.

“Strike three.” Dylan managed to say through his husky and breathless voice once he came down from his high.

The sweet taste of adrenaline rushed though all of my veins and my heartbeat pounded so hard it pulsed inside of my ears the second Dylan said those two simple words. A mixture of concern and lust flooded inside of me and I didn’t quite know which one was stronger.

Dylan slowly slid out of my body, his eyes staring into mine the entire time, and I winced at how sensitive I’ve become. Going back over to the closet, Dylan pulled out a small key and walked over to me again. He hovered over my body, his incredible smell filling my nose, and unlocked the metal cuffs on my hands. They immediately dropped to the floor with a clang and Dylan didn’t even seem to care. Putting the key down on his desk, Dylan stood up straight in front of me.

“Let me ask you a question, princess.” He husked. “Do you think you’re a good girl?”

“Hmm, well, I happen to think you’re very very naughty.” Dylan murmured. “And do you know what happens to naughty girls, baby? They get spanked.”

Before I could even put together what was about to happen, Dylan harshly grabbed me and made me stand. My boyfriend pushed me down onto the desk, my ass sticking out for him, and he stuck his leg between mine to keep them apart. He slowly began to caress one of my cheeks with the palm of his hand and goosebumps covered my entire body.

“Okay, then, ten it is.” He chuckled darkly and I mentally prepared myself for what was about to come. “Count for me, princess.”

Suddenly, Dylan lifted his hand and roughly slammed it back down on my ass cheek. The intense pain immediately making my hips bucker in response. The ache and pleasure shooting through me and landed straight in the bottom of my stomach, sparking the creation of a familiar knot.

He repeatedly smacked my right cheek five times in a row, my skin aching intensely with every hit. Everytime he would slap me, the knot inside of my stomach would become tighter and tighter. I knew that by the time he finished spanking me all ten times, that knot would break and I would be orgasming for the second time in this trailer. I was already a shaking, moaning and whimpering mess in his hands and, as embarrassing as it was to be so vulnerable to someone, I couldn’t care less.

Dylan rubbed my right cheek for a few seconds to ease the stinging pain on my skin before moving to my left and striking my ass again without any warning. My knees were wobbling and weak and if it wasn’t for his leg holding me up, I would’ve definitely fallen down my now.

“S-Six.” I mewled, my voice only able to come out as a whisper whilst he continued his punishment on me. “Seven, Eight, Nine.”

By the tenth strike, the extremely tight knot had snapped and spread an insane amount of pleasure inside of me. My vision blurred and went white as my orgasm dissolved in my blood and bones. My body jerked against the desk, my skin digging into the wood, and arousal immediately spilled out of me and ran down Dylan’s thigh. It didn’t matter that my ass was burning in excruciating agony, the pleasure was so much more powerful.

Dylan held onto my hips as I finished reaching my edge and came back down to Earth. His fingers creating tender circles on my skin.

“You okay, baby?” He asked me and I managed to bring myself back up, with his assistance of course.

“Yes, Dylan, I am.” I turned around with a smile on my face, wrapping my arms around his neck for stability.

“I wasn’t too harsh, was I?”

“No, you were perfect.” I shook my head happily, leaning in to place a soft kiss on his lips.

“Good.” Dylan smiled, his eyes no longer dark and now back to its gentle color. “It’s just, the way Cody looked at you drove me insane and-”

“I know, baby.” I interrupted him before he could finish, caressing the back of his neck with my fingers. “But, I’m not his, I’m yours.”

Dylan smiled at me with everything he had in him and I swooned at how beautiful he was. However, not just in the way he looked or in the way that he always manages to say things that makes me fall in love with him more and more everyday. But, just in the pure way that he is.

You wake up early the next morning, eyes blinking wearily as you struggle to free yourself from the last remaining tendrils of slumber. It’s not a simple task, mostly because you’re still exhausted and all you want to do is fall go back to sleep.

But you can’t. Something woke you up and you need to figure out what it was.

As you begin to come to, so do your senses. A quick sweep around your surroundings lets you know that you’re not in your apartment and the feeling of someone wrapped around you is the only clue you need to figure out that you’re not alone. You turn your head slightly, nose catching the scent of antibacterial soap - a smell that your brain immediately connects to doctors and hospitals.

Hospitals.

The last bit of confusion about your current location fades away as your brain catches up with your senses. You’re with Bucky.

Uraraka quickly dodged Bakugou’s right hook, fist barely grazing her cheek as she moved out of range. She reached out to grab his outstretched hand, but he spun around before she could, seeing her strategy and crushing it with an explosion to the back.

She grunted at the pain but refused to go down–she used the smoke to her advantage and put her training from Gunhead to good use; she locked her arms around his, using all her body weight to throw him overhead,
catching him off guard–and before he could react, his back hit the ground with a resounding bang, the wind knocked out of his lungs. As he gasped, she took the chance to sit on his chest, pinning him down with her knee.

Bakugou struggled against her grip as she tried valiantly to hold him down.

“It’s not over yet, Uraraka!” He shouted, glaring with sharp eyes and quickly shoving her off of him, knocking her off balance.

Soon, they devolved into wrestling each other on the ground, pushing and shoving and kicking, each trying to get the upper hand, victory just within grasp, until–

The first time it happens he almost forgets about it afterward – how couldn’t he with Cas dying. But now that he thinks about it he distinctly remembers the way the words slipped from his tongue, the way he desperately tried to put them back in.

“… devastatingly handsome friend…” – yeah, he had fucked up then. Thankfully, no one had said anything, and he wouldn’t be Dean Winchester if he couldn’t bullshit his way through, pretending to actually be Cas’ wing man.

It was almost a blessing that Cas was busy dying that evening because the thought of him hitting up with Mandy still leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

The next time it’s at a restaurant and the waitress is obnoxious and weird and definitely not cute, so he has to say something, right? Right?

“Want some dessert, sweetheart?” she asks, her eyes never once leaving Cas.

“Actually, he doesn’t need dessert, he’s already sweet enough,” Dean answers for Cas and takes pride in the way her smile falters for a moment. Sam doesn’t comment, so Dean takes it as a success.

(And if Cas complains on the drive home that he actually wanted dessert, well, that’s not his fault.)

After that, it’s a competition, a compulsion, to indulge in the flirtations only for as long as it takes to make it clear that Cas is his. Not that he is, not really, but no one needs to know that.

It’s not like Cas will ever see these women again. Really, he’s just doing him a service because Cas certainly doesn’t want to have regrettable one night stands right? Right.

Dean comes across as an asshole more times than once, but he doesn’t care. The incidents are numerous, both a reminder how hot Cas actually is (not that he particularly needs one) and a reminder how much fate hates him.

“Hey, beautiful, what can I bring you?” – “Well, my stunningly beautiful friend here” (the emphasis is important) “Likes his coffee black, as I would know.”

“Care to show me where you got that tie from? And maybe wanna show me how to put it on?” – “Actually, if you want to know, I put it on for him, every day, thank you.”

“Hey, you think you could give me the phone number of your sexy friend over there?” – “Sure. It’s 1234-FUCKOFF. Want me to write it down?”

Okay, that last time had been at a bar, with Cas and Sam sitting on the far edge in a corner booth, and that was probably better for all because no way he could have spun that into just a snarky remark, a humorous attempt to one-up her. Not that he wanted to, what did the bartender think she was?

The next time, the waitress doesn’t back down. It’s on the time they walk into the bar; he can see her watching Cas hungrily and coming over almost immediately after they sat down.

“Hey guys,” she waves at them before turning her attention completely on Cas. “What can I get you, sugar?”

“Coffee, black, no sugar. At all.” Dean doesn’t even try to hide his discontent.

“Oooh,” she says and pretends to adjust her name tag – Mandy, another proof that fate was out to get him –, effectively pushing her breasts out of the shirt. Or maybe that’s just his jealousy, who knows. Bottom line, she’s definitely attractive and he prays to God that Cas isn’t interested.

Cas’ first instinct is to look at Dean, bless him, so that gives Dean the chance to retort: “Oh no, he’s already sweet enough. More and he’ll get diabetes and you don’t want that, right, honey?” His voice is dripping with sarcasm now.

“Why don’t we let your friend” (and this emphasis was clearly uncalled for) “decide what he wants?” she asks sourly.

Still none the wiser, Cas looks at the menu and up to Mandy. “Dean is right, I don’t like sugar in my coffee,” he says. Sam snorts.

This isn’t the end of this – far from it. Every time she comes back, she has another cheap flirtation on her lips and every time Dean has to scramble up the best retorts. It’s getting annoying and, frankly, frustrating, because by now she must have realized that Cas is taken?

(Well, not taken, but definitely not available.)

But she seems completely unfazed and, Dean is sure of it, almost fascinated by the competition. The worst part is at the end; she brings them two bills – Sam and Dean together, Cas’ coffee on a separate one – and even from across the table Dean can see that she wrote her number down on it, complete with a heart and all.

“Hey,” he says before he can stop it.

“What?” she asks innocently. “Did you guys want separate bills, too?”

“No, actually, I wanted to pay for Cas’ coffee.”

“Oooh,” she says for the second time in the day and Dean feels the urge to slap something, a brick wall, a pillow, a kitten, something. She taps her finger against her cheek, seemingly trying to understand the situation. “So you bring a chaperon to all your dates? That’s not classy.” She winks at Sam and lays down the other bill in front of him.

Well, if she thinks that insinuating he’s gay is going to make him back off then oh boy she’s got the wrong target. Right now, Dean is so fucking exasperated that she’s still trying to get in Cas’ pants that he would scream ‘I’m fucking gay for Cas’ from the roof tops, so he almost shouts: “Oh, no, no such thing. We’re well past the dating stage, sweety.”

Which is the stupidest thing in the history of stupid things he’s ever said – because that’s not innuendo, that’s not even remotely true, and he can feel Sam roll his eyes and say “Dude!” at the same time that Cas tilts his head to look at him confused.

At least that makes Mandy shut up, if only for a while until she regains her snark and says: “Must be one hell of a relationship then where you don’t even kiss each other one time in two hours.”

(Which, true, he should have thought that through.)

“So if you’re interested in… pursuing something better for you, I’ve got just the thing,” she continues, tapping on Cas’ bill and that’s enough, that’s fucking enough, he’s had it with this bullshit, so he stands up and runs the two steps to Cas’ chair, violently jerking him upwards and planting a kiss on his mouth.

He can hear Sam mumbling and Mandy exclaiming ohmygod and also, most importantly, he can hear Cas sighing and feel him smiling and deepening the kiss, and – ohmygod, they’re actually kissing, and his anger dissolves almost immediately. Cas is kissing back and he seems happy and right now, Dean couldn’t care less about Mandy and Sam and all the other customers who are probably wondering what the fuck just happened.

They break apart after what seems like an eternity and Dean can’t hide his smug grin. Sam’s face is buried in his hands and Cas calmly puts a few bills from his pocket on the table. “I’ll pay for both. Keep the change.”

Fuck, Cas is actually almost as sassy as him, and that just makes Dean love him even more.

Cas doesn’t know when he started to
crave human contact. He supposes it’s a side effect of inhabiting
his vessel for so long, but it’s inconvenient to say the least.

He remembers hugging Dean when he came
back from the dead, wrapping himself around his warm body without a second thought.
How easy things had been then, when all of his thoughts were
occupied with Dean being alive and what a miracle that was. He didn’t
have to worry about overstepping his bounds, doing something he’d
regret.

He remembers Dean cupping his face,
stroking it even, holding his hand after a near-fatal (or fatal)
injury as he looked into his eyes, making
sure he was alright.

Even then, in the context of whatever brush
with death he was recovering from, Cas couldn’t think about anything
but melting into Dean’s hands, staying that way forever and ever.
But of course, he couldn’t. That would be inappropriate, a man
touching a male vessel for such a sustained period of time, and if
Dean touched him for too long he might give into temptation.
Overstep his bounds. Do something he’d regret.

Cas lives a sleepless life, but as he
wanders the bunker at night he can’t help but envision what it would
be like to lay down in bed next to Dean, to hold him in his arms or
have him hold Cas, to feel his warm breath and the thud of his heartbeat.

Dean had been so warm when he touched Cas. So gentle, and so very human.

He tells himself it’s only fantasy, so
it doesn’t count. Just as long as he never let’s it show, what he
truly wants, and how badly he wants it: he craves contact, Dean’s
contact, his affection, his warmth. He wants to know Dean loves him
back, for him to show it with his actions if not with his words.

But he doesn’t dare say it. He just
dreams.

Over a year ticks by like this, when
Dean comes home from a hunt, badly injured. He has a blood-red welt
on his forehead, and a deep scratch through the fabric of his shirt.

Cas notices anyway, and his brow furrows. He’s been told
he lacks empathy, but Cas recognizes the gesture, the longing that
was behind it. It just doesn’t seem possible that Dean could crave
what Cas does.

Still, tentatively, experimentally,
places his hand back on Dean’s shoulder.

“I am…checking for further injuries,” he
informs him, and immediately feels guilty for lying. Still, he needs
to know if Dean wants this too, whether even some small part of him might crave this. He allows his hands to move gently over Dean’s
shoulders, tentatively as though he might break.

Dean makes a soft grunt that tells Cas
he doesn’t quite believe his alibi, but still, he doesn’t move away.
He leans closer, into Castiel’s touch.

Cas continues, in somewhat awed silence, his
hands stroking down Dean’s broad shoulders, down his muscular back,
radiating warmth beneath his thick flannel shirt. Cas wishes he
wasn’t wearing it, and not even for sexual reasons: he just wants to
feel Dean’s skin beneath his own, wants the intimacy of being
together without the restrictions of clothes.

He allows his fingertips to brush,
feather-light, over the bare skin of Dean’s neck, still damp with
sweat from the exertion of their hunt. Dean doesn’t tense, or do
anything, really: he just sits there, perfectly still. Cas can’t
read his facial expression, but he somehow feels he’s doing something
forbidden.

At that moment, Sam walks in, saying something innocuous about the hunt and not noticing whatever it is they’re doing.

Dean
stands up abruptly, practically knocking over a chair as he does so. Cas watches him curiously as he awkwardly greets
him, clearly somewhat embarrassed, despite the fact Sam wasn’t aware
of the exchange that had just transpired.

Sam looks suspiciously from Dean, then
to Cas, then goes about his business like he doesn’t want to know.

…

It isn’t until months later that Cas
finally gets what he wants, though he’s not coherent enough to fully
appreciate it.

He’s been stabbed through the gut with an angel
blade, grace seriously depleted and nearly delirious.

It’s an unfortunately close
re-enactment of the last time Cas was taken from them, and Dean knows
it as he lugs Cas into bunker, draped over his shoulder like a rag
doll.

He’s barely conscious as Dean lays him on the sofa, pealing
back his blood-soaked shirt to reveal the wound, the blue light of
his Grace illuminating from within.

He yells something at Sam, who minutely
brings them a bowl of hot water and a cloth, which Dean then uses to
clean it. If Cas were more coherent, he’d tell Dean that was
useless, that he would be healed by his grace or not at all; mending
a vessel when his true form was damaged was like trying to repair a
flesh wound by patching up clothing.

But Dean is touching him gently,
cleaning his wound and muttering to him soft, soothing nothings that
he can’t quite make out.

He’s looking at him with an emotion
somewhere between desperation and…Cas refuses to let himself think
‘love’, not wanting to feed into his own false hope, but it’s
something very close to it.

In spite of himself, he smiles,
allowing Dean to take care of him as his eyes flutter shut one last
time.

…

When Cas comes to, he’s shirtless and carefully bandaged, though he doesn’t need it anymore; his Grace heeled the
wound over night. Now, not even a scar remains.

He doesn’t have much time to
pontificate on this, however, because Dean is beside him, asleep on
the sofa, one arm draped over Castiel’s bare midsection and the other
wrapped around a pillow, snoring softly.

Cas watches him, too awed to say
anything, for the better part of a half hour. Not even Dean drooling
on his pillow is enough to detract from the wonder of him being here. The fact that he has, apparently, stayed with him throughout the night, his body pressed against his
own.

And here Cas had been losing faith in
miracles.

After a while, Dean’s eyes flitter
open, and he awakens with a startled snort as he realizes Cas is
staring at him.

Cas is about to apologize for staring,
again, when Dean has expressed his desire for him not to, but Dean is
only sitting up on his elbow, grinning stupidly at him and rubbing
the drool off his chin.

Cas nods sagely, grunting as he sits
back on his pillow. “I believe so, yes.”

“That’s…” Dean trails off,
laughing breathlessly. “That’s awesome, man. We didn’t think you
were gonna make it for a while. If you were human, that blow
would’ve been-” He trails off. “I’m glad you’re here, man.”

Cas is barely listening at this point, still staring at Dean in quiet awe.

“You…stayed with me,” he murmurs, Dean blinks, looking slightly taken
aback by the statement: it’s almost a question, the way Cas phrases
it; the inquiry of why
is evident in his voice.

“Of course I did, man. We care about
you,” he says, hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “I care
about you.”

Cas stares at him, expression
unreadable. Slowly, he nods.

They’re still lying there, on the sofa,
bodies pressed close. Dean is so warm, so soft and pliable against him,
radiating the heat Castiel has craved for so long.

Cas wets his lips. “Can we stay like
this, just a little while?” he asks, voice barely a whisper. He doesn’t
want to make Dean feel uncomfortable, but he wants this closeness so
badly. He never wants it to stop.